Journey's End
by Mirrordance
Summary: As Aragorn’s passing draws near, Legolas decides to ‘kidnap’ him to the Undying Lands and save him from his death, with the grudging help of Gimli the dwarf and the twin sons of Elrond.
1. An Untold Story

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Journey's End

Summary: As Aragorn's passing away draws near, Legolas decides to 'kidnap' him to the Undying Lands and save him from his death, with the grudging help of Gimli the dwarf and the twin sons of Elrond.

* * *

SOME IMPORTANT NOTES BEFORE YOU PROCEED

      The first chapter of my story is largely (but not entirely) composed of a paraphrase of an excerpt from Appendix A of "The Return of the King."  Needless to say, it contains spoilers that those who are eagerly awaiting the third and last installment of the movie may not want to see.  

      Though this event is generally known, I put it in my fic to set a mood that I hope will come across in the story, and to show a kind of continuity that would otherwise leave the beginning of the story misplaced.  I also initially thought of putting up the excerpt word per word, but decided on the paraphrase in safe accordance with rules as justly put by fanfiction.net.  I know that it is much to hope that the essence of the original text is captured even just slightly, but I really did want to stay faithful to that mood and I hope I didn't hinder it.  You may even want to read the last part of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen in Appendix A of the book itself, to more accurately capture the feeling that none other than Tolkien's own words could possibly, justly contain.  Either way, hope you have fun! :)

* * *

PROLOGUE: An Untold Story

      After the War of the Ring, and the heir to Gondor restored, much is said of the great deeds of Aragorn and the blinding glory by which he and his people thereafter lived.  A great leader was he, a King more than his name, more than his birthright; he burned with a fire that was inexplicably glowing and bright, one that seemed unlikely ever to dim…

      And yet the fate of all men he must also endure, and here lies the telling of the passing of Elessar, as it is told in the Red Book:

              When at last he felt the approach of old age, he knew that the span of his life was drawing to an end, blessed though he had been with its long days.

                        "At last, Lady Evenstar, fairest in this world and most beloved," Aragorn said to Arwen, "my world is waning.  We have gathered, and we have spent, and now the time of payment comes."

                        Arwen knew what he meant, and though long she had long foreseen it, she remained overcome by her grief.  "Would you leave your people before your time? They live by your word…" 

                        "Not before my time," he told her, "If I will not go now, then I must soon go by force.  And Eldarion our son is most ready for this kingship."

                        Going to the House of Kings in the Silent Street, Aragorn settled himself upon the long bed that had been prepared for him.  There he said farewell to his son, and yielded to him the crown of Gondor and the scepter of Arnor.  Then all left him save Arwen.  

                        For all of her wisdom and lineage she could not plead with him to stay… she was not yet weary of her days, and thus was subject to the taste the of the bitter mortality that she had taken upon herself, that time she had sworn to love him.

                        "The hour is indeed hard," said Aragorn, "yet it was written in the stars that very day we met in the garden of Lord Elrond, and on the hill of Cerin Amroth when we forsook both Shadow and Twilight, accepting this doom.  Beloved, ask yourself whether you would truly desire to have me wait until I shrivel and decline from my high seat unmanned and witless.  I am the last of the Numenoreans and the latest King of the Elder Days; and I have been gifted not only with  a life-span thrice that of other men, but also the grace to go at my will, and gratefully return their gift.  Now, I will sleep.

                        "I know that my words offer you no comfort," he continued, "for in all the words in all the languages that there is, or in all the circles of the world, there is none to offer for such a pain as this.  But a choice remains before you: to go to the Havens and take to the West our memories that shall stay eternal and evergreen but never more than a distant though sweet recollection; or else to stand the Doom of Men."

                        "That choice is long over," she said, "There is now no ship that would bear me, and I must stand the Doom of Men.  But I say to you, King of the Numenoreans, only now have I understood why your people have risked their fall in their desire to seek the Deathless Lands.  I once found them nothing more than fools, but I now find my heart pitying them, for if this death is indeed, Iluvatar's gift to Men, it is most bitter to receive."

                        "Indeed it is," he said.  "But let it not completely overcome us.  In sorrow we must go, but not in hopelessness.  We are not bound eternally to the circles of the world, and beyond lies the promise of much, much more than a memory.  Farewell, Arwen."

                        "Estel…" she cried, and even as he took her hand and kissed it, he sank into a deep sleep.  In this cold stillness, a great beauty glowed from him, melding his youthful grace, the valor of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age.  Long there he lay, a splendid, undying image of a great King, his glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.

                        But in this Arwen found no comfort or rest, only loss and silence.  She went forth from the House, and the light of her eyes was dimmed and quieted; she had become cold and grey as a starless winter's night.  Then she bid farewell to her children, and to all whom she had loved.  Then she went out from the city of Minas Tirith towards Lorien.  There she dwelt there alone under the fading trees until winter came.  The land was silent now, no longer living in the splendor of Galadriel, who had long since left it.

                        There she laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth, and there is her grave until the world changed, and all of her life are utterly forgotten by men that come after.

                        Here ends this tale, as it has come to us.  With the passing of Evenstar no more is said in this book of the days of old.

      Indeed, no more of this is spoken of in the great Red Book, which was began by Bilbo Baggins, continued by Frodo Baggins, and thereafter further enriched by various writers and historians from all across Middle-Earth.  Filled as it already is with tales of valiant figures, world-changing ordeals and magical places, much, however, still remains to be told…  

      The continuation of the tale above, for instance, is but a small piece of the world, only a fraction of a moment in time.  But it is a story of a friendship to last the ages, and a trial of the _soul_-- the most telling field of all valor and spirit.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. A Secret Voyage

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Journey's End

Summary: As Aragorn's passing away draws near, Legolas decides to 'kidnap' him to the Undying Lands and save him from his death, with the grudging help of Gimli the dwarf and the twin sons of Elrond.

* * *

CHAPTER 1: A Secret Voyage

      The grace of the Lord of the Elves in Ithilien as he rode majestically upon his faithful steed was unmistakable even from a distance, even from the less-keen eyes of a human.  He rode with carefully constrained harshness, the hooves of a strong-but-aging Arod pounding furiously against the ground.  His golden hair swirled with the breeze, his brow mighty and aged not by time and years, but by the wisdom in his burning eyes.  He was seen about Gondor often enough, and seemed not to grow any older in all these years, save for those eyes…

      "Open the gates!" exclaimed the watcher of Minas Tirith, and he turned to a runner ordering, "Inform the household that Prince Legolas arrives _at last_."

      Barely slowing his horse to greet the soldiers whom he was familiar with, Legolas passed them by in great speed, heading single-mindedly towards the halls of the mighty fortress.

      There upon its very door stood Eldarion, son of Aragorn and now King of the reunited kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, standing tall and proud as he awaited the coming of one of his father's dearest friends, and one of the world's most-renowned heroes.

      Legolas reined his horse to an abrupt stop, and dismounted adroitly, bowing slightly to the new King in a solemn salute.

      "I have heard of your rise upon the throne from Ithilien," Legolas said to the King, "Your father's crown rests well upon your noble brow, it seems… and the scepter lies sure and safe in your hands."

      "Thank you," Eldarion said to the elf of whom legends spoke in great honor and pride, "I regret you did not receive news of my father's passing soon enough to have come here to bid him farewell."

      A flash of sadness passed across Legolas's eyes, before he masked it with great resolve and skill, "I was otherwise occupied.  Where is your mother?"

      Eldarion averted his eyes for a moment, "She too has made her farewells.  She decided to spend her remaining seasons somewhere in Lorien."

      "I see," Legolas said softly, knowing exactly what that had meant, though Eldarion was loathe to say it; his mother now awaited her death, awaited her waste and languish, in Lorien which has been emptied by the ages, but still slow of time.  This whole miserable land was being emptied by the ages before his very eyes…

      "I know you have work to do, Sire," said Legolas, "I shall not keep you from it anymore than I already have.  I know where your father lies.  I shall see to him myself."

      Eladarion hesitated.  He would make time, even in the most pressing of days, to entertain his father's dearest friend especially in events such as these.  But he was his father's son, with at least a fair share of his father's knowing, and he understood that the elf wished fervently to be alone.

      "Of course," Eldarion nodded, "Join me for supper later this evening.  Your friend Gimli, he is working on what would eventually be my father's tomb with other dwarfs out upon the fields.  He will be with us as well.  Unless you want me to send for him immediately?"

      "No, I can fend for myself, for now," Legolas answered politely, even as his mind was screaming _No!_, he did not want any witnesses upon his first sight of Aragorn in his cold sleep.  It would shatter him, to have someone else there, saying comforting words that were useless salve on a wound that went bone-deep.  

      "The sons of Elrond will also be with us tonight," said Eldarion, "I am sure you would find great joy upon seeing your old friends."

      On the contrary, Legolas seemed to find some sort of displeasure in that last statement, but he nodded and watched the son of Aragorn leave satisfied with his reply, just before he turned away and headed for the Silent Street.

* * *

      ~As the years passed,~ he said softly, his soothing voice a complement to the potent quiet of the House of Kings, ~I knew this day would come and yet… _mellon_… such a pain to see you this way, even in your most stunning beauty.~

      Legolas carefully circled King Elessar, lying upon his bed with his arms folded over his heart, his eyes closed in his deep sleep.  No, he was not yet dead, but dreadfully close to it.  He had chosen this grace, when he felt his passing drew nearer and nearer, unwilling to fall from his high seat _perforce_, _unmanned and witless_.

      ~I would not have done the same,~ Legolas told him softly, devouring the King with his hungry eyes, as if willing him to wake by his steely, ice-blue gaze, ~I would have let Death claim me kicking and screaming and fighting.  Perhaps it is indicative of your old age, that you would allow Him to take you so easily.~

      And yet even with his joke he could not bear to smile, not even to lie to himself that it was funny, that it was well-timed, not even to smile imagining Aragorn would be smiling too.  No… this steely death made no allowances for even the coldest of comforts.  It was too glaringly real.  Too inescapably concrete.

      ~Why must you leave me so?~ he asked achingly, ~Why must _everyone_ leave me so? Why must I watch all things wither and fade? Why could things not stay as they were? We had no need for Deathless Lands, or Iluvatar's promises of a Haven beyond the Circles of the World when we have made _our_ Haven here.~

      Taking a shaky breath, he tentatively held the King's slack hands in his shaking ones.

      ~But for all of this misery,~ said Legolas determinedly, ~I can still save you, Estel.  And I will.~

* * *

      ~You are late in coming, Legolas,~ 

The elf in question looked up at Elrohir, who said so when the silence had been too burdensome and the trivial, subtle clatter of the silverware had at last been deemed too inadequate too fill it.

      ~I had affairs in Ithilien,~ Legolas said quietly, inviting no other questions, averting his gaze and unwilling to meet the sharp eye of Elrohir, or Elladan's, or even Eldarion's and Gimli's.  He focused upon his plate as if his life depended on it.

      ~I never knew you to put anything between Estel and yourself,~ pointed out Elrohir, ~He was looking for you.~

      ~I came as soon as I was able,~ Legolas said with finality, laying down one of his silver and looking up at Elrohir harshly, his hand fisting.

      ~Peace, _mellon_,~ said Elladan, raising up his palm, ~Elrohir was merely disappointed in that you were not able to say your farewell.  But we are certain that Estel would understand, he always understood you best.~

      Legolas set his jaws and nodded, his fist loosening grudgingly.  He felt his frustrations come to a head, and it seemed that he needed only the slightest provocation to release it.  The death of Aragorn symbolized the death of an age, and possibly his own death in the sense that he now felt nothing bound him to this land anymore.  He had long suffered the longing for the Sea, yet he did not wish to at last fulfill it by Aragorn's death.  

Wanting to leave and wanting to stay, suddenly aimless, even if he had long since known the day would come, even as he had watched the King age before his eyes… the pain was still shockingly acute.  He had lost his friend, and all at once, he himself _was_ lost.

~How fares the south?~ Eldarion asked him.

~All is well, sire,~ replied Legolas, ~'Tis a beautiful land indeed, and made more so by our perseverance.~

~Then one wonders at what could have kept you from being here,~ mused Elrohir aloud.

Legolas said nothing, and Gimli, sensing his distress, filled in the swiftly growing void of the conversation, ~For Legolas to have been as late as he was, it must have been very important then, wouldn't you say so, Master Elf?~ he turned to Elladan.

~I would say so,~ said he, looking at his twin sharply, in warning.

Eldarion, the youngest of the group was wise for his years, but between these folk was a history older and stronger than he, and he could not find it in himself to lord over their quarrels, even if he was King and master of this land, master at _least_ of this very _table_.  Tomorrow night, he decided, tomorrow night he would dine at a later hour, and beg his work as an excuse…

His father would have laughed and gamely called him a coward and an awful liar… The thought sent a smile to his face, even caught as he was in sorrow for the loss of both his parents, and now the grief that the sorrow of his guests were in turn further causing him. 

Elladan caught his smile and looked at him most dubiously, as if he found the King utterly mad.  He hurriedly smothered his grin.  It was, after all, profoundly inappropriate.

Dinner moved on from course to course, the clatter of silver resounding most uncomfortably.  And yet it seemed the group had ultimately decided it was best for no one to say anything at all.

* * *

      The Silent Street was quiet enough at the height of the day, much more so in the dead of the night.

      Cold and gray and empty it was, bland of color, but distinctly strong of spirit.  There were no ghosts here, but it was steeped in history and greatness that overwhelmed even the most weathered of warriors, like its visitor-- nay, its _intruder_-- tonight.

      His feet were light, soundless as they sauntered across the empty streets towards the House of Kings.  His coat swirled with the moonlit night, his hair seemingly sharing its glowing silver against the deep, dark sky.

      Looking about him, he scurried up to King Elessar's resting place, and froze before the bed, feeling that he was not alone, and being watched most astutely.

      Not very many beings could sneak up to an elf, and this seasoned warrior even less, but the twin sons of Elrond equaled his skills in the least, and Legolas found them watching him amidst the shadows.

      ~You see, Elrohir,~ said one, ~I told you he would have come to say farewell to Estel if he didn't have some other form of mischief afoot.~

      The twins stepped out of the shadows to regard Legolas curiously.

      ~What brings the Prince of Mirkwood here so late?~ Elrohir added sarcastically, ~Come to say good night to Estel, perhaps?~

      ~Are you two not here as well?~ snapped Legolas, ~What right have you to question me, when I know not what in turn has brought you?~

      ~We thought perhaps you had something planned,~ said Elladan, ~What is your excuse?~

      Legolas looked away from them, towards Estel's face.  He could lie, of course, and return on the morrow.  But he knew the twins would be by then as well, and on the days after.  And Estel had precious little time…

      ~I hurriedly built a ship in Ithilien when I heard of Estel's weakening,~ he said suddenly, just as he made up his mind about a course of action, ~I aim to bring Estel to the Blessed Realm.  And I mean to succeed.  If you wish to stop me, I guarantee you would only be able to do so by extreme force of physical restraint.  And I will fight you madly.~

      ~A fool's errand,~ said Elladan dispassionately, ~You know as well as we that 'tis not the _land_ itself that makes whoever goes there undying.  It is the very presence of the immortals _within the land_ that makes it so.~

      ~But it is a place of the most wise,~ reasoned Legolas, ~They know things there that we do not.  Estel deserves this chance.  The gods may lend him a few years, a few months… there he could live a while longer, uninterrupted by his duties, his worries, in a place of beauty and wonder.  Perhaps they may even gift him with immortality.  If any mortal ever in all the ages deserves it, 'tis Aragorn.  If the gods can bestow mortality upon the deathless, like Luthien, then they may do the reverse--~

      ~This is madness,~ said Elrohir, harshly cutting him off, ~You assume too many things.  You assume that the Valar or Eldar can help him.  And yet you do not even think that perhaps the gods would not even let him pass through the seas.  No man can go there, no human has ever been allowed.~

      ~Aragorn deserves this chance, at least, a chance from _us_, if not from the gods~ Legolas said fervently.

      Elrohir's eyes softened, and he took a step towards the elf, ~'Tis your grief talking, Legolas.  Let him be.~

      ~I will not,~ Legolas said stubbornly, moving towards the King, which Elrohir blocked.

      ~You are a selfish one,~ Elrohir said to him coldly, ~He desires this.  And yet you think only of yourself, of your grief, of your loneliness.  Of our tragic fate.  Legolas.  Let.  Him.  Be.~

      Legolas' eyes narrowed; Elrohir had struck a nerve.  ~Selfish it is if you desire to deem it so.  But get out of my way.~

      ~You dare not take from him what he has freely chosen?!~ exclaimed Elladan, disbelieving.

      ~Dead is dead,~ Legolas told him coldly, lying boldly though his eyes glistened, ~No matter how much time I buy for him, 'tis where he will head.  And yet I live.  If you do not wish this for Estel, then give it to _me_.~

      ~You are mad,~ Elrohir told him softly, though he stepped back and let Legolas stand before Estel's dying body.  He looked towards his brother with wide eyes.

      Elladan took a deep breath, and Elrohir, used to his actions, shook his head at his twin, wordlessly trying to convince him to change his mind.

      ~We will help you.~

      Elrohir shook his head in dismay, but said nothing to countermand his brother's decision.  Legolas looked at Elladan with a fleeting, distrusting hope in his glimmering eyes.

      ~I do not understand,~ he admitted softly.

      ~Niether do I,~ sighed Elladan, ~But a friend you are to us, Legolas.  If we cannot stop you from your foolishness, we can at least help you conquer the trials you will undoubtedly face along the way.~

      ~And besides,~ said Elrohir, ~I know of only a pair of beings who have the barest chance of talking you out of this mad scheme and incidentally, they _all_ languish beyond the seas.  That would be _your _ada, and _ours_.~

      He nearly smiled when he watched Legolas' lips quirk, and his eyes light up ever so slightly, lending him life and spirit for the first time in a long while.

* * *

The three elves worked quickly.  Legolas and Elrohir

hoisted Estel up between the two of them, and carried him out as Elladan took point and led the way.

      Preoccupied as they were, they missed a particularly wily dwarf who stood by the exit, barring their way. He was dressed in his night robes and smoking a pipe, looking at them wryly.

      "Stealing from the dead?" he asked, his full voice lowered to as much as he could manage.

      "Stealing _the_ dead would be more precise, Master Dwarf," said Elladan coolly, irked that he had not sensed the dwarf's coming, "Are you going to get out of our way?"

      "I do not know what you crazy elves are planning," he said, surly that he was not included, "But if you do not let me join, I will scream to my stout old heart's content and let all of Gondor fall upon your mischief."

      "We are headed for the Undying Lands," Legolas told him quickly, almost excitedly, "I built a ship, it is in Ithilien."

      Gimli frowned, he obviously did not think he would be going that far.  But he sighed and said, "I have always wanted to rest my eyes upon the Lady Galadriel again."

      He shuffled to Elladan's side and looked around carefully, "To the Undying Lands it is, then.  And here I was just out to say good night to Aragorn," he added, not knowing why Legolas' eyes danced, as he found it somewhat funny.

* * *

      Three elves, a dwarf and a near-dead human rode through the night, moving south towards Ithilien.  The breezes were picking up it seemed, though Legolas was unsure if it were simply the season, or his eyes were tainted by his anxiety.

      Clutching Aragorn's limp body tighter against him, he looked sideways upon his fellow riders to ensure that they were indeed there.

      He had, until now, felt so alone… And though they had at first been a hindrance to his great plans, his heart was soothed by their reassuring presence.

      Gimli had both arms about Elladan's waist, holding more tightly than he was wont to; it was the first time they had ever shared a steed, and though Gimli knew the elf well, he was not quick to trust his manner of riding.  Legolas recalled those same short arms resting about him, knew the exact feel of it by memory, after so many journeys together.  The dwarf had a certain grudging warmth about him that suited Legolas perfectly.  He wondered what it would be like, by the time he must lose Gimli to death as well…

      "I imagine Eldarion would not be pleased with us," Gimli grumbled, catching Legolas' eye.

      Elladan chuckled.  "I imagine he simply wanted us to _leave_ under any circumstances, and would be most grateful to his father for providing the occasion."

      They rode in silence for quite a while, the winds indeed picking up around them as if it knew something was amiss.  A storm was brewing, and Middle-earth shook with its simmering strength.

      "What of Arwen?" Elrohir asked over the din of the howling winds.

      "I dare not offer her false hopes," replied Legolas, "Or encounter her objections.  We seek aid for Estel first, and then return for her to bear her to the Blessed Realm and be with him.  Besides, I know not where in all of the Golden Wood she has fled, and an elf of her kind will not be found if she does not wish to be.  We have precious little time to do so.  Her seasons are many, yet.  We can return for her later."

      "You fear to encounter our younger sister's objections," Elrohir commented, amused, "One more being who could have talked you out of this madness that I had not thought of.  It's a shame indeed that they are all indisposed and Elladan and I are doing so miserably."

      "Not only miserably, Elrohir," Elladan laughed, "We even stepped up and joined! Legolas is indeed a wily one.  _Very_ clever.  _Ada_, he will not be pleased at all!"

      Legolas smiled at him, though they all knew that their fathers, grave though their anger may be, was the least of their worries.  

The last time humans have dared to cross the great expanse of the western sea and came upon the Undying Lands, the great god Iluvatar shook the world to all of its foundations, angered by their transgression.  Numenor was sank in this Change, and the Undying Lands was wrested from the Circles of the World, never to be reached by mortals or anyone without great elf ships that could find the Straight Road.

      What punishment would their actions yield, Legolas wondered.  What had he gotten them all into?

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Trials of the Sea

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Journey's End

Summary: As Aragorn's passing away draws near, Legolas decides to 'kidnap' him to the Undying Lands and save him from his death, with the grudging help of Gimli the dwarf and the twin sons of Elrond.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: Trials of the Sea

      They reached the docked ship just before the dawn.  It was a weathered, earthy gray in the first light of the day, the skies shifting from black to a bleak white, preceding the rise of the sun.  Legolas' ship rested majestically against the banks of the Anduin, the running water splashing most soothingly against its body.  The morning mist was so thick that they could not see the water beneath the ship, or even the lower parts of its body, only its rearing Swan-head, as in the fashion of the great Teleri ships inspired by Ulmo, the Valar ruling over all waters.  Everything was gray and dirty white and black, obscured by fog and mist, like a misplaced dream.

      The riders dismounted, and Legolas, bearing Estel in his arms, sauntered over to his ship and settled the King most comfortably within it, encasing him in a thick coat and resting his head upon a bedroll.  He jumped back down to the shallow waters, his light boots and step making a slight splash on the river water.  His companions were looking at him most curiously.

      "An interesting ship, Legolas," Elrohir said, his hands running absently across the swan's neck, "The blood of the great Teleri shipbuilders must indeed run through your veins, distant though your ancestry may be."

      "It's as if my hands knew precisely what they must do," Legolas said, "It is a good, solid ship.  May it take us where we need to go."

* * *

      Despite the promise of the morning light, the winds of the previous night held other plans and other fates, and the sun did not raise any higher beyond the clouds that struggled to contain its warmth.

      The steady current of the Anduin began to move swifter along its length as the winds blew harsher, and the clouds thickened further, and the skies darkened.

      "We are not welcome here," Elladan told Legolas quietly, as the elf adroitly navigated the waters.

      "We knew this at the onset," Legolas replied, "But you of course have my leave to depart from this.  I know what danger I have brought you into.  You may leave anytime you please…"

      "For myself I do not fear, _mellon_," said Elladan, "But stubborn as you may be, and foolhardy, I would consider it a great quiet in my life if you departed it.  Same goes for my impossible brother.  I might even miss the dwarf, if we should lose him."

      "Ha!" Gimli exclaimed from behind them, "I most certainly will not be missing you, elf!"

      "You won't," said Elladan wryly, "because I won't fall, will I?"

      The company traveled along the river, following its current until the lands bordering it began to fall away from their sides, and they ventured out into open sea.  The current was now no longer so straight, and little waves teased their ship, sending diamond sparkles splattering.

      "Osse, the Lord of the Waves greets us," Elrohir whispered, knowing much relied upon this gleeful spirit's whim.  Mariners loved him and feared him, for he tended to be reckless with his waves, lost in its harsh passions, all seamen caught in its lethal embrace forgotten.  

      Legolas murmured a quick prayer to Uinen, Osse's wife and his complement, the most beloved Lady of the Calms, to ease her husband's tempestuous heart.  For a moment, the waves seemed to shatter and fall away around them, creating a calm that was misplaced in the open sea.  The surface was suspiciously almost glacial, and still.  The winds howled around them, but the waters remained stubbornly unmoved…

      Then lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder boomed over their heads.  The clouds gathered and thickened around them, darkening the seas as the heavy rains began to fall.  Then the water about them receded, suddenly becoming most unnaturally shallow.

      The sailors narrowed their eyes towards the near distance, where a great wave had gathered all the water about it, and seemed to be heading for a massive crash their way…

      "I do not think he approves," Gimli growled, before he was shushed by Elladan.

      "Rope yourselves to the ship," Legolas said quickly, working upon securing Aragorn first, "Do not let yourselves fall over, these waters will claim us and toss us until we do not even have bodies left."

      The group worked hurriedly as the wave approached, its large menace made more known as it moved closer and closer.  They watched it approach, and braced themselves with horrified eyes as it crashed over their heads, ramming the boat and the force of the water pressing them against the wood.

      "This is not just Osse," said Legolas breathlessly, gathering his feet and steering the ship, "The storms and the winds are from the very hands of Manwe."

      "Will the ship hold?" Elrohir asked over the din of the storm.

      "It will do as it must!" Gimli growled when Legolas opened his mouth to respond but looked rather unsure.  The dwarf settled on the floor of the ship and braced himself for the next battering wave, holding Aragorn's body tightly.

      The wave crashed over their heads, and tossed the ship almost to its side.  But Legolas' hands and heart were set.  As surely as his soul knew to yield to the calling of the Sea, his body knew to navigate towards it.  Stubbornly, their ship held its course and stayed miraculously upright as wave after wave slammed against it.

      With wide eyes, Elrohir watched Legolas stand up to the battering of the gods.  Gimli, with his lesser ears and great preoccupation with staying aboard could not hear what the elf Prince was murmuring, but Elrohir and certainly, also Elladan could.

      ~You will not claim us,~ he said stonily in his native tongue, ~I will not let you.~

      The winds picked up, even as it had seemed that it could not get any worse.  The waves rose, tall and mighty and one after the other.

      ~Legolas!~ Elrohir yelled at him, ~Are you mad? Must you taunt them?~

      The elf turned to glance at him only for a moment, before turning back to his work.  It was a quick look, but enough for Elrohir to see that his face streamed not only with the smattering of the rain but with his own, cold tears.  In all of the years he had known the proud Prince of Mirkwood he did not know him to show great pain or great emotion.  Seeing him this way was like watching the first snows of winter melt in the warmth of the coming of the spring.  He seemed to _melt_ with it.

      These past days, he was angered by Legolas' selfishness without understanding his loneliness.  He, at least, always had and would always have his brother.  Legolas, on the other hand, found his kindred in mortals who would inevitably be taken from him forever, to places where he could not go.  The Prince always had a restlessness uncharacteristic of his kin.  It was a passion that neither time or age could wear out or consume.  He was too spirited for the complacency of the elves, yet too aloof to be a human.  Always did he tarry somewhere in between, distant from most elves and men or other beings, until he had come across Aragorn, who was not only so disarmingly likeable so as to tear him from his solitude, but also so disconcertingly like him in spirit.

      Losing Aragorn was not just losing a friend, or a brother.  Legolas was ultimately losing himself, and for such a fight to keep it, he would defy the gods.

      Elrohir growled in dismay as he steadied himself on the floor of the ship.  He wished he had been kept in the dark of his anger, it was much easier to constantly resort to it.  Understanding hurt, it was much harder because with it, he could not complain, or keep himself from aiding Legolas.

      ~Give me something to do,~ he said.

      ~Secure more of the ropes,~ Legolas told him breathlessly, ~They will fray with the strain.  The gods will not release us from their clutches until we have failed.  And we will not fail for as long as we are able to fight them.~

* * *

      _Dearest Prince, why must you forsake us…_

      Legolas blinked his tired eyes against the salt of the sea and the harshness of the winds.  The words were spoken straight into his heart, skipping languages and striking straight towards his understanding.  Elladan, Elrohir and even Gimli heard it too.

      ~I do not forsake you,~ Legolas replied aloud, ~I can only do what it is that my heart pushes me to do.  How could I doubt it, mighty Valar, when it is the same heart that seeks to bring me to you?~

      _These mortals do not belong to our land_, came the unearthly answer, _you know this, as they know this.  Theirs is a fate apart.  Theirs is a promise from Iluvatar, a gift we cannot keep from them._

      ~But what of the Heaven we have made here?~ Legolas asked, ~What need have we for distant promises when we have made a Paradise here?~

      _Iluvatar's__ plans are his own_, said the gods, _Not even to us are all revealed.  You must have faith.  Turn back, and no more harm shall come upon you or those whom you love.  Sit through the ages and watch the years unfold with patience and trust, Legolas._

      ~You do not know what you ask of me,~ Legolas said shakily, ~'Tis a fate worse than death.  It is eternal, lonely waiting! If the immortal can be made mortal, than the reverse is so.  And if anyone in all the Circles of the World and beyond it is worthy of such a prize, he lies in this ship.  The dwarf, who is a friend of the elves and of whom even the Lady Galadriel speaks well of.  And Aragorn, whose traits are unparalleled.~

      _He is of Numenor_, the gods said dispassionately_, the Realm has been taken from this Earth by their very ambition.  These mortals are not welcome here_.

      ~With all respect to you,~ Legolas said coldly, ~I will go to where I am headed.~

      _We can strike you all where you stand_, said the gods, and the storms about them grew, the clouds completely black by now, and the lightning gathering within it in a cackling menace.  The waves also rose about them, and seemed to freeze in time, surrounding them and just waiting to fall over their heads.

      Legolas looked toward his companions with sorrow and a decision in his grief-hazed eyes.

      _Let them not pay for my transgression_, Legolas thought to the gods, knowing they would hear him, _Give them this chance, I beg of you, and you will find in me the most worthy of servants._

      --

      _Your will is great_, said the gods, _And your heart is a prize, if laid upon the proper master's feet.  Let it be done._

      --

      Legolas, in a flash of movement, took a dagger from his boot and tore at the ropes that anchored him to the ship.

      ~What are you doing?!~ Elladan exclaimed, jumping forward to grab him, just as he opened his arms to the sea, and let it claim him.  The waters rushed around the ship, and took Legolas with it into a dark void where none can reach.

      "Legolas!" Gimli exclaimed, practically throwing himself into the water to reach his friend.  Elrohir grabbed his legs and pulled him back.

      "He is lost to us, Gimli!" he yelled over the din of the wildly rushing waters, "He is lost to us!"

      "Legolas!" the dwarf yelled, squirming in the solid grip of Elrohir, and Elladan who soon aided his twin in holding back the strength of the dwarf, "Legolaaaaas!"

* * *

      The angry storms abated and the waters calmed.  The cold winds hushed to a warm breeze, and the ship seemed to steer itself towards where it had been made to go, for all the good that it did now, when they had lost another of their own.

      "Legolas…" cried Gimli uselessly, sinking to his knees on the wooden floor, "Blasted elf! Blasted, stupid, crazy elf!  Biggest fool of a race already full of fools in the first place! A blasted race full of fools!"

      Elladan watched him quietly, taking absolutely no offense.  His eyes too, had dimmed.  His body sank against the planks, exhausted by their ordeal almost as much as his heart was.

      Beside him, Aragorn stirred, and blinked, and woke, just as the sun rose over their heads.

 TO BE CONTINUED…


	4. A Journey Ends

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Journey's End

Summary: As Aragorn's passing away draws near, Legolas decides to 'kidnap' him to the Undying Lands and save him from his death, with the grudging help of Gimli the dwarf and the twin sons of Elrond.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: The Journey Ends

      At the shores of Eldamar, Aragorn sat, watching the sea with his deep gaze desperately raking it for some vision, a vision that his heart yearned for far more than his eyes did.

      "He should not have brought you here," a voice said from behind him.

      Aragorn knew that it was the Lord Elrond, flanked by his twin sons and Gimli the dwarf.  

      "He should not have paid for us with his life," said Aragorn bitterly, "He only purchased for us this loss, and a lengthier life to live with it."

      The waves crashed rhythmically along the shores, filling their silence with its strength and assuring repetitiveness.

      "I'm sorry, Estel," Elladan told him softly, "We should have tried harder to dissuade him."

      "I beg you not to fool yourself," said Gimli, "There is never any dissuading that idiot."

      "Perhaps it is all just as well," said Elrond, "His heart always moved in two places, he might as well be lost to the sea that bridged the distance between them."

      "He should not have been lost at all," Aragorn said, rising from his seat and dusting at his clothes.

      "Estel," Elrond put a hand upon his shoulder, "You are unhappy here.  It is silly for a paradise to be so.  If you wish to leave, the Eldar and Valar would surely permit it."

      "It would be like spitting on his grave, _ada_," said Aragorn sternly, "I wish to take a walk."

      Excusing himself from the group, Aragorn felt their watchful eyes upon his back as he walked away from them, following the lines of the beautiful paradise shore, that was now his prison.

      He had woken from his deep sleep, stirred by a power he did not understand.  He had thought perhaps that he was already being called upon by Iluvatar towards his promise, his Gift to Men, that fate that awaited mortals after death, where there was always joy.  But he had wakened to the Undying Lands, with the earnest and lonely faces of his dearest friends hovering over him.

      His heart felt that something was amiss.  But before he could even think to ask what was happening, he asked them where Legolas was.  And he was gone.  The rest of the tale he had managed to piece together, and it did not paint a pretty picture.  

      In older days, it was ambition and pride that had taken Numenor towards this Blessed Realm and ultimately, to its fall.  For Legolas, it was his misplacement and loneliness that had pushed him to take mortals into the Undying Lands and caused his own fall.  The gods seemed to find his will and love admirable, even as it went against their desires and the plans of Iluvatar.  And so his great love was compared to Luthien's, and Earendil's, but so he too shared each a part of their lonely fate.  Luthien, who loved so greatly that she took upon herself the Doom of Man, all at once Earendil, who had gone to the Undying Lands never to return to the mortal realm he had also loved.  Legolas, beloved Prince and hero, lost to the seas between the two fates.

      "Your thoughts run very deeply."

      Aragorn turned beside him, to find that even in midday, the shoreline had become obscured by a thick, rising mist, and within it, his old friend stood, as if he lorded over them.

      "Ah," Aragorn said, pleased, a smile crossing through his weary, lonely features, "I thought it was only a matter of time before my madness sent me a vision of you."

      Legolas smiled too, but there was a sadness in his eyes that could not leave it, and it was so like the haze of the mists that surrounded him.

      "I am not your madness, _mellon_," he said, "At least, any more than your usual craziness."

      "I see," said Aragorn, "Of course you would say that.  But what brings you here, then?"

      "I have been watching you these past days," replied Legolas, falling into step beside Aragorn as the two of them walked along the shoreline, "I did not bring you to a paradise.  I brought you to the darkest places of the world."

      They walked together, saying nothing.  Each one's heart was heavy, but found some solace in the other's company, even as each was the cause of the other's grief.

      "There are some things," said Legolas, "Which I fervently wish I learned to accept sooner, before I did things that could no longer be rectified.  I am sorry, Estel.  I was selfish."

      "I never known you to be so," Aragorn said softly, "It is the heart that makes us foolish.  And yet we could not live without these passions."

      "I have been given a chance," said Legolas breathlessly, "to give back to you what I have taken."

      "You needn't—" Aragorn was saying, but Legolas took him by the shoulder, and steered him towards the waterline.  The mists parted for them, and Aragorn's eyes rested upon a gray ship in the shape of Ulmo's swans.

      "Time to go home, Elessar."

* * *

      The gods were on their side, this time, as they vanished from the shores of the Blessed Realm, guided by a beautiful breeze that was quick to take them home, but warm and comfortable upon their skin.

      Aboard the ship they talked animatedly of the past, of the future, of things that weighed heavily in their minds and of memories that made them somewhat lighter.  Only too short was this voyage, though soothed by the rhythms of the sea were their hearts.

      Needing no steering, the ship neared the lands of Arda, and moved unhindered against the current through to Anduin.

      "It takes us to Lorien," Legolas said to Aragorn with a smile, "Where Arwen fled after your sleep.  If she could be found, Aragorn, you would know where."

      The winds brought the ship to rest along the riverbanks.  Hesitantly, Aragorn stood and faced his old friend.

      "And so the voyage ends," he said softly.

      "The road was long," agreed Legolas, "and yet it has brought us back to where we began.  Curious, how it still seems changed, as if my eyes were new."

      Aragorn dismounted from the boat, his heavy boots creating a splatter on the shallows.  He looked towards Legolas expectantly.

      "You would not come see Arwen with me?" he asked, even as he knew the answer from his friend's lonely gaze.

      "This is no longer my land," said Legolas, "Perhaps it never was.  I was bound to it by my soul, even as the Sea calling strived to part us.  But ultimately I do not belong here.  Nor there."

      "What becomes of you?" Aragorn whispered, not quite understanding.

      "Nothing that does not fit me," Legolas told him with a sad smile, leaning over from inside his ship and engulfing Aragorn in a tight embrace, "Take care, Estel.  You have given me much to cherish in remembrance."

      With these words, he did not so much leave as… vanish.  His blue eyes, hazed by his grief was the color of the mists that surrounded him and trailed him in their timeless fog.  Aragorn watched as he faded, part of the sea and yet part of the air, neither _here nor there_.  Tangible, but could not be held, or encased. 

      Turning away from the banks of the river, Aragorn ran towards where his own heart rested, its pounding and beating furious as his hopes and joy escalated with each step he took towards Cerin Amroth, towards _her_.  And there indeed did Aragorn and Arwen find each other once more, and where they embraced and shared a grave that was _evergreen_, and potent with a love eternal that, though incomprehensible to those lives that would follow them ever after, struck at the soul and gave it peace and reassurance, even as the leaves fell and the seasons changed, and as time passed and all things have weathered and were forgotten, as they were wont to.

THE END

October 22, 2003

SOME NOTES:

On Middle-earth canon regarding the Undying Lands.  I am not quite sure if I understood it well.  This is my first heavily-literature-oriented piece, and I hope I did not stray too far from what is correct.  If I did, he he, let's all just pretend it's a very distinctly wild AU, then :)

On the gods.  As in cases of legends all across middle-earth, these gods have had a history of giving exceptions to the rule, so I thought Legolas may want a chance at that :)

On Legolas.  A fascinating character.  This is a very character-driven piece.  I wanted to portray Legolas as Elrond and Elrohir saw him in this fic; kind of torn.  He lives as if there was no tomorrow, yet his passion could never be quenched by his thousands of years.  This makes him very lonely, especially since he has formed an attachment with mortals that he was not really depicted as having with those of his kin.  I wanted him to fear death not for himself, but for those that surrounded him.  So what does indeed become of him in the end? A servant to the gods, yes, and if you noticed that he was often trailed by the mists (which was also a constant image in the entirety of the fic), he becomes kind of its keeper, as much as Osse keeps the waves.  It's liquid, but air, it's there, then it's gone.  I wanted the fic to have a kind of fairy tale quality about it.

A disclaimer.  I'm really rather uncertain about this fic.  I may or may not edit it.  That depends on how disagreeable you may find it, ha ha.  Please don't flame me.  I can make excellent repairs if just given the chance, he he.  We'll see how fickle the muses are.  But for now, the story stays as it is.  I hope I got that fairytale tone across… hm.  Oh, well.  I had fun writing it.  C&c's always welcome! :)


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